They Thought It Was Over
by Halcris
Summary: This should have been Chapter Two of One Good Turn, which needs to be read first. It ended too tamely, so I followed it up with They Thought It Was Over.


**They Thought It Was Over.**

The tall dark man strode into the room where two other men were playing snooker.

When he saw the expression on his brother's face, Felix Rinaldi responded quickly. "What's wrong, Carlo ?," he exclaimed.

"I've just had a call from Sheik Arafa," replied his brother, "asking why his shipment hasn't arrived."

"What's gone wrong ?," gasped Felix.

"I don't know yet," said Carlo grimly. "I've contacted Youssef in Tripoli, and I'm waiting for a call from him."

As if on cue, the phone rang in the adjoining room. Carlo hurried out to answer it. The other two laid down their cues and followed him.

They stood by silently, watching the older man listening intently to the message he was receiving. His face was becoming steadily grimmer. At last he put the phone down.

"We're in trouble," he announced bleakly. "The Marquessa has been impounded in Tripoli. Interpol has discovered the crates of arms, with our name on them. Captain Pilgrim is in custody and being interrogated.

"That little rat won't hold his tongue," snapped the fiery Felix. "To save his own skin, he'll 'shop' us for sure."

He looked to his elder brother. "What do we do now, Carlo ?," he demanded. Carlo had been thinking and replied quickly.

"Start getting together every asset that we can realize quickly," he said. "And get onto Benelli at the airfield to have his private plane fuelled up and ready to go. We may have to leave in a hurry."

"What about me ?," said the other man who had as yet said little. Carlo looked at him coldly.

"You'd better come with us, Corsaro, I suppose," he said grudgingly.

Corsaro felt a flicker of fear. Since they had engineered his escape from prison, he had enjoyed the Rinaldi's hospitality, as they had used his German contacts to set up this very successful arms-smuggling scheme. They had already had a couple of successful and remunerative runs, and the Rinaldi's had been delighted.

But suddenly the cordiality seemed to have dissipated. The Rinaldi's were ruthless men. If he were no longer of any use to them, they would get rid of him without a second thought. And now they certainly wouldn't leave him to be caught and interrogated.

"How did they get onto us ?," asked Corsaro, with a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't know," replied Carlo, "But that's not important right now. We need to be ready to get out, salvaging as much as we can."

"Where will we go ?," asked Corsaro timidly.

"I have contacts in Spain that will help us on the first stage," replied Carlo tersely. "Then South America, probably."

He strode out, to get busy with whatever plans he could make at short notice.

George Cowley and his two best operatives were feeling good. It looked as if they were at last going to see the Rinaldi's brought to book.

Interpol were making good progress in Tripoli, thanks to the tip-off they had received from Cowley.

The ship called the Marquessa had been impounded, and its secret cargo confiscated. Captain Pilgrim was promising to be a great source of information. He was pouring out details which were being quickly checked and documented. And very soon there would be enough for a warrant to be issued against the Rinaldi's.

Doyle was especially pleased, as it had been proved that his idea of how the smuggled guns had got through had now been vindicated.

But little did any of them know that it wasn't going to be as straight-forward as they had hoped.

Carlo Rinaldi was very occupied making plans for getting away, but Felix had other things on his mind.

When Corsaro had asked how they had been found out, it had echoed a query in his own mind. Carlo had said it wasn't important, but to Felix, the one of the brothers with the most fiery temperament, it most certainly was !

He began to think over the details of the operation. A man called Ken had picked up the load of guns in Munich, and brought it to Calais to take up a position close to the other Rinaldi lorry in the car-park. It had been there overnight. If the authorities had got onto that part of the journey, something would have been done about it then, surely. And with the changed plates, it had gone through without question in the morning, hadn't it ?.

So it looked as if something must have happened between it leaving Dover, and its arrival in Tripoli.

He made a quick call to the manager. "Who drove this lorry from Dover to the docks ?," he demanded.

"Bob and his mate, Tim," was the reply.

"Where are they now ?," asked Felix urgently.

"At the warehouse in Gilmore Street," replied the manager, "helping to sort and re-load some ceramics going to Bruges this afternoon."

Felix immediately set off down to Gilmore Street, and found the two men in question. Not all the drivers employed by the Rinaldi's knew about the gun-smuggling scheme, but these two certainly did. Felix drew them to one side, out of ear-shot of the other men working on the lorries.

"We're in trouble," he told them tersely, "They've got onto us. The cargo you fetched has been discovered in Tripoli." The two men looked at each other in alarm.

"Oh, you needn't worry," said Felix, "You can plead complete ignorance, and they'll have a job to prove you knew anything about it."

But he continued to glare at the two men. "I want to find out how they got onto us," he added determinedly. "Did anything out of the ordinary happen on your trip to the docks ?."

"No, nothing at all," replied Bob.

But then his mate, Tim, made a big mistake. "Could it have anything to do with the 'snooper' we found ?," he said.

Bob glared at him. He hadn't told his employers anything about that. He had thought it was all over with. He'd heard nothing at the docks, and last time he'd been there to pick up a load of textiles, the containers had gone. He'd reasoned that if they were going to be used, they would have been opened and the man would have been found. He hoped they'd just thought that he was a 'dosser' who'd got trapped by accident, and had sent him on his way.

"What snooper ?," demanded Felix, and so Bob had to tell him the whole story of what had happened.

"Who was he ?," he snapped. "Didn't you go through his pockets ?."

"Didn't have time," replied Bob. "But I've heard no more, so I guess he was found, and cleared off when they let him out."

"You said he was snooping," said Felix. "What was he doing ?."

"Looking at the number-plate, I think," said Bob. Then both he and Felix realised the significance of that. The changing of the plates was the integral part of the scheme.

Felix changed the line of his questions. "What did he look like ?," he demanded.

"Just an ordinary bloke," responded Bob. "White, average build, with dark curly hair."

Felix seized on this. Dark curly hair ! That meant something to him at once.

Of course, Doyle ! It had to be. Ray Doyle, C.I.5 !

Armed with this information he hurried back to tell his brother all he had learned.

"That accounts for it," said his brother grimly. "If Cowley and C.I.5 are onto us, it's time we left. They'll leave no stone un-turned !"

He set to work to retrieve all he could of the situation, and told Felix to do the same.

Felix did find time to make sure that Benelli, the pilot of the private plane they often used was alert and ready, but really his mind was on other things.

That fellow, Doyle, always nosing into things, he ranted inwardly. He's ruined one of the best schemes we've ever had. Well, he's not getting away with that. I'm going to get him before we go !.

Bodie came into Cowley's office, to find him talking on the phone. He waited patiently until his boss put the receiver down.

"It looks as if the Rinaldi's are getting ready to run," Cowley informed him. "I've just heard that Carlo spent yesterday going to several different banks and accessing his safety-deposit boxes in each, so I guess he's getting together all the assets he can muster."

He waved a hand at the telephone. "I've just instigated control checks on all ports and airports," he said.

"We'll have to move fast if they make a run for it," said Bodie.

"I agree," said his boss, "So I've got a watch on the house, and a team on stand-by."

He took a look at his watch. "Where's Doyle ?," he asked.

"I don't know," replied Bodie. "I called him earlier, but I didn't get a reply. He's probably on the way in."

Just then the phone rang again. Cowley almost snatched it up and listened intently.

"Right," he exclaimed, "Alert the stand-buy team. !"

He turned to Bodie. "Come on," he said, already moving towards the door, "A big car has just left the Rinaldi place. Carlo was driving himself, and the man beside him looked like Corsaro."

They hurried from the room and very shortly Bodie's car swept out of the yard. The car-phone rang, and Cowley grabbed it. It was the man following the Rinaldi car, and his words told them the direction the car was moving.

"They're making towards Croydon," Cowley informed Bodie, who quickly adjusted his course.

"That small airfield," exclaimed Bodie, "off Rampton Road. "There's a private hire plane there that they sometimes use."

"I know it," replied Cowley.. "A pilot called Benelli, I think."

Bodie swept through the busy streets, filtrating through the traffic with consummate skill. Cowley was busy on the phone, directing the stand-by team, who weren't very far behind.

Thanks to Bodie's consummate driving skill, they got there first, and drew up beside one of the hangars.

The private plane was on the runway, ticking over and clearly ready to go at very short notice, They were just in time to see Carlo Rinaldi and Corsaro, both carrying heavy bags, climbing into it !

They were about to charge forward, when another figure appeared from a nearby hangar, and they suddenly discovered why Doyle hadn't joined them earlier !

With an arm tight across his throat, he was being held as a human shield by a wild-looking Felix Rinaldi !

Doyle was in a sorry state ! Jacketless, his hands tied in front of him, signs of having been knocked about, and with a red stain glistening wetly on his right shoulder, he was entirely at the mercy of the fiery Felix, and it was a quality the man didn't possess.

"Stand back !," yelled Felix, as his other hand held a pistol to Doyle's curly head, "or I'll finish him now."

Cowley and Bodie stopped in their tracks, as they watched Felix edge towards the open door of the plane.

Furious with rage, Felix continued to rant. "He was the one who found us out, wasn't he ? You're not getting him back. I haven't decided how I'll pay him back yet, - maybe I'll drop him off in the Bay of Biscay. Can he swim, do you think, in the state he's in ?."

Cowley could feel the tenseness of the man beside him, as he listened to these taunting words. Both men had their guns in their hands, but could not use them, while Felix's gun was almost in Doyle's ear. They were poised however, ready to grab the slightest opportunity if it came. They waited, desperate for the least chance of saving their man.

It came in an unexpected way. The stand-by team had arrived very soon after they had. Led by Barton, an experienced man, they had stopped their vehicle short, and out of sight, and had crept forward stealthily on foot.

Barton suddenly appeared round the nose of the plane, well to the right of Felix.

"Freeze !," he yelled.

Distracted, Felix swung his gun round to fire at him. His hold on his captive eased, and Doyle took the slim chance this offered. He back-heeled his captor's shins fiercely, and let himself drop to the ground.

Several shots rang out simultaneously. It would be hard to determine whose shot killed Felix, for three guns had been fired, by men who rarely missed. His body toppled over, falling down across his erstwhile victim.

The rest of the stand-by team were there now, piling into the plane. Taken by surprise, Rinaldi, Corsaro, and the pilot Benelli, were quickly overcome and captured, with no more shots fired.

Cowley hurried in that direction, but Bodie had dashed over to help his fallen partner. He wasn't sure what he'd find.

But when he pushed Felix's body off Doyle and helped him sit up, he was relieved to find he had received no further harm, and looked reasonably alert.

He found his knife, and cut Doyle's hands free. He looked at the bleeding shoulder and was relieved to find it seemed to be no more than a flesh-wound. He helped his partner to his feet, and dusted him down gently.

Cowley re-appeared, climbing out of the plane. He was followed by the rest of the team, bringing with them their safely-secured prisoners.

Corsaro looked bewildered, as if he hadn't quite realised what had happened.

But Carlo Rinaldi was much more intelligent. He just looked shaken and very bleak, as he contemplated what was in store for him now. With his brother dead, and the weak Corsaro as his accomplice, he was going to bear the brunt, as his once lucrative empire was taken apart and examined in detail.

Doyle watched them coming, and a smile spread over his face, as he turned to his friend.

Bodie," he said, satisfaction in his voice, "We thought it was all over before.

But it is now !"


End file.
